Part 19 (2/2)
”Like a disaster,” the zombie screeched.
”Something is wrong,” Becka said. ”We are not acting normal. It's not just this chamber.”
”The Random Factor put us here,” Sim squawked. ”He affected us somehow. I suspect we won't be able to escape until we figure out what it is and how to counter it.”
”I just want to get out of this place,” Becka said. ”Maybe if somebody boosts me up, I can get a hand on the top and climb over the wall.”
”Perhaps I can fly out,” Sim squawked. He spread his wings and tried to fly, but the chamber turned out to be too small for him to take off. He crashed back to the floor, rumpling his feathers. ”Apparently not.”
Becka helped him get back to his feet. ”That's all right. You tried. And I guess if you can't fly out, I wouldn't be able to do it in dragon form, either.”
”I think we shall have to figure it out mentally,” Sim squawked. ”Then perhaps the physical aspect will abate.”
”All we're doing is standing here talking,” Becka said.
”This thing is out to get us,” Garnishee screeched.
”It's balking our efforts to escape,” Becka agreed.
”And it's going to keep after us until we stop it,” Sim squawked. And felt another twinge or two. Why were they so busy agreeing with each other?
”It's a monster,” the harpy screeched.
”A giant worm, with us in its stomach,” Becka agreed.
”A malign G.o.d playing with us,” Sim agreed. ”I think it is affecting the way we speak.”
”You think so, beak?” Garnishee screeched.
”This is interesting, rainbow feather,” Becka agreed.
”Indeed, brown eyes,” he squawked. Then a bulb flashed. ”Synecdoche!”
Both others stared at him. ”Would you translate that, please?” Becka requested.
”Gladly. I believe I have figured out the riddle of our dialogue. Synecdoche is a figure of speech, wherein one employs the part for the whole, the special for the general, or vice versa. All three of us just used it: Garnishee called me beak, you called me rainbow feather, and I called you brown eyes. These are all parts of us, but we understood them to mean our persons. We have been speaking in figures of speech-when one of us does it, the others do too.”
”But you're not doing it now,” Becka said.
”I will demonstrate. I will use another figure of speech, metonymy, wherein a thing is named for one of its attributes, or names of related things are exchanged. See if you can avoid doing similar, dragon.”
”Why should I, genius?”
”Yes, why should she, iridescence?” Garnishee screeched.
Then both of them paused, their glances nearly colliding. ”We did do it,” Becka breathed.
”I will try another. This time an oxymoron, wherein opposites are paired. I'm a smart dummy.”
”And I'm a clean harpy,” Garnishee screeched.
”I'm an ugly cutie,” Becka said.
There was another pause as they recognized the syndrome.
”When one of us uses a figure of speech, so do the others,” Becka said. ”We can't help it.”
”That's why we've been talking funny,” Garnishee screeched. ”But how do we stop it?”
”I suspect identification of the syndrome is the first step,” Sim squawked. ”And refusal to use any figures of speech must be the second. Identifying and refusing them all may nullify the spell.”
”But we don't know anything about figures of speech,” Beck said.
”Fortunately I do,” Sim squawked. He rolled back his eidetic memory. ”When this sequence started, we all used irony, pretending this was fun. Irony is the expressed reversal of one's real feeling. Then we used hyperbole, which is a gross exaggeration. Then we used irony again, and then simile, which is an explicit comparison. All figures of speech.”
”Then we tried to escape physically,” Becka said, reeling back her own memory. ”And couldn't. And Garnishee said this thing was out to get us. Was that a figure of speech?”
”Certainly. That was personification, attributing an animate motive to an inanimate thing.”
”Then I said it was a monster,” Garnishee screeched. ”What was that?”
”That was metaphor-an implied comparison. Then we got into synecdoche, as I said.”
Becka nodded. ”And finally oxymorons. It's a good thing my friend Mistress Man isn't here; she makes them literal.”
”That must be some sight!” Garnishee screeched appreciatively.
”It can be,” Becka agreed. ”She's a pretty ugly stupid genius. Oops!”
There followed another relaxed siege of oxymorons as the others trailed the preceding example.
”So how do we stop it?” Becka asked when it cleared.
”I'm not sure,” Sim squawked. ”But I suspect that if we refuse to use any more figures of speech, the effect will fade.”
”So we should shut our mouths, like good little-” Garnishee stifled herself in mid-simile.
”Exactly,” Sim agreed. ”Perhaps it will suffice simply to be silent for a sufficient period.”
They were silent. Slowly the walls of the chamber faded, and the castle hall reappeared. The spell was wearing off, because of disuse. They had vanquished it.
”What can the Random Factor do to us, worse than that?” Becka asked.
”Well, there's one way to find out,” Sim squawked. He walked to the door.
”No!” Becka cried, but she was too late. Sim got a wing behind the k.n.o.b and managed to twist it and draw the door open.
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